Turbulent
by mentos and diet coke
Summary: Claire Young is angry at the world. And according to her, it's all Quil's fault. Will she ever be able to forgive him for the secrets he's kept? Claire/Quil
1. Chapter 1

******Chapter One**

* * *

**Thursday 23****rd**** April 2020**

**Claire is 17**

* * *

"Are you sure you should be doing that?" Kianda laughed. I flicked the cap back onto my lighter – leopard print. Jazzy. – and sighed.

She was right, of course. I shouldn't. Not because of the potential health risk. Not even because the legal purchasing age for cigarettes in Seattle was 18.

But because I had a werewolf friend/babysitter who would be able to smell it on me before I even crossed the border into Forks. I was amazed I'd even been able to hide my little vice from Quil Ateara for the last year and a half, but I exploited it as much as I could. You see, it was one of the few parts of my life over which I had total control.

"See that? I know how to total your plans." Kianda smiled smugly. "One mention, or, no- not even a mention, one _inference_ of Quil and your tail goes _right _between your legs." She tossed me a packet of mints haphazardly, keeping a tight grip on her steering wheel. I grinned. "How many more times are you going to tell him you smell like smoke because you _walked past a group of smokers _in Port. I can't believe Wolf Boy even buys that, especially with that hyper-powered snout of his. He's probably just grossly misguided by those cute little dimples of yours."

Okay, so Kianda was as clued into the bizarre La Push situation as I was. My Uncle Sam's pack of crime-fighting werewolves – yeah, you read it right - were all over six feet tall, over-ripped, and over-gorgeous, with Quil, my moral fire-fighter, being no exception. They knew it, too. So they got around a little. (The ones that weren't moon-eyed and attached to their other halves, that is. Set those ones aside, because they were inherently strange. I couldn't comprehend it.)

I was mostly thinking of wolves like Brady Fuller, with whom Kianda had enjoyed the odd late night romp behind Jacob Black's old garage. Zero shame. I didn't see them going anywhere special with it, especially since Kianda's motive was to get the hell out of La Push as soon as possible, but he hadn't exactly been able to hide his condition for long. After all, the guy's a 108-degree tank with a rotten temper. Almost as bad as Paul used to be, I hear. Phasing was inevitable. Sam was pissed, because 'the secret was not being respected', but as far as I knew, Kia had never told a soul.

It kind of made me wonder about Quil, whom I had never seen dating. I was confused as to why he wouldn't use his obvious genetic advantage for…well, you know. Genetic advancement, shall we say? He seemed to fall into no categories; neither the nympho wolves with zero respect for women, nor the besotted wolves that acted like their girlfriends' shadows. A lot of things about Quil were very confusing, but then, for two people that had been friends for fifteen years, we were strangely guarded. I didn't know all that much about him anyway.

"Claire. _Claire._" Kianda waved her hand in front of me. Her blue nail polish made my eyes water. "Were you even listening to me?"

"Huh?" I shook my head. Kianda smirked.

"Too busy thinking about how to cover your smoky ass?"

I rolled my eyes. "What were you saying?"

"I _said_, doesn't your Cornell letter arrive today?"

I snapped into attention. The one other area of my life, besides slightly macabre substances, I had control over. College applications. And I hadn't told anybody but Kia that I had even applied to an East Coast school.

Basically, I was a coward, and I didn't want to bring it up, neither to my Mom – who had already lost my sister to a four-year course on Spanish architecture, _in Spain_ – nor to Quil. Quil, who, even though he supported _most _of my decisions, and even though he had no real _reason _to be upset about me potentially disappearing for three years, probably would be. I wasn't sure why I could confidently make that assertion, but I always had a pretty good hunch as to how Quil would react, and I was always pretty accurate, despite a limited source of information on him. Mine and Quil's relationship was…instinctive, to say the least.

_Plus_, it was Cornell. There was a slim-actually, no, almost _no_ chance of me making it through the application process. Yes, my SATs had gone a little better than expected, but the people who applied to those kinds of schools had some world experience. They'd scaled Mount Fuji and rescued entire orphanages from certain devastation and played cello at Carnegie Hall. The furthest I'd ever gone from my home in La Push was Oregon. I wasn't even sure why I'd applied. I figured I had nothing to lose.

"Yeah, I guess it is." I shook my dyed hair out of my face.

"Well! Come _on_, don't you want me to speed home so you can open it and we can have a total Jennifer Aniston moment and scream and jump up and down and have a pillow fight?"

"You're a bitch." I muttered, smiling despite myself.

"You love it." I did. Isn't that the whole point of friends? That they're on your wavelength? I could never be friends with somebody who thought sarcasm was the lowest form of humour. That's why Kia and I were a perfect fit.

She dropped me off in front of my house, waggling her fingers as she sped off over the speed limit. I felt this weird bilious feeling rising from the pit of my stomach. I never really went in for huge displays of emotion, but there was a strong possibility that today would be a first.

Because it was lose/lose. If I didn't get in, I'd feel sorry for myself. If I did, I'd feel sorry for the people around me. I had no idea which one I'd rather suffer. As I opened our old-fashioned mailbox, pulled the letter out and headed indoors, I knew I was about to find out.

My heart was beating so loudly I could almost hear it. Blood was drumming in my head. I slipped a finger under the flap and pulled the letter out, my hands shaking.

_Wednesday 22nd April 2020_

_Dear Miss Young,_

_On behalf of the Cornell department of Social Sciences, I am delighted to offer you a place for admission for our Major in Anthropology, beginning in the Fall semester, 2020. Congratulations on your achievement!_

_Competition this year has been extremely tough, and you have emerged as one of the most credible, committed candidates for the course. We hope that you will choose to accept your seat at the University, and subsequently, have a wonderful undergraduate life with us here at the SS department. _

_Please be sure to complete the attached paperwork by no later than __**June 21**__**st**__**, 2020**__, for us to reserve your place and send you further details on the accommodation. _

_Congratulations once more on your fine achievement._

_Best wishes,_

_C. M. Brown_

_Student Admissions Officer_


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

* * *

**Wednesday 18****th**** May 2016**

**Claire is 13**

* * *

"I think I want to do something with people when I get older. For a living, I mean." I sighed, stretching out on my pink-and-yellow quilt. My toenails were newly painted, and Quil was sitting on the floor of my bedroom, back to my pine bed, to help them dry faster.

He was so warm. It was strange. I was definitely more observant than your average thirteen-year-old, but I couldn't figure out what exactly it was that was…well, sort of _off _about him. Last Christmas, I had thrown a snowball at the back of his head. Or _tried _to, at the very least; despite facing the other way, he heard it coming somehow. His reflexes were almost doglike. His hands flew to the back of his head, and the snow had turned to water before it even touched his skin.

"Like what? Like a nurse, or a social worker?" He was flipping through my annotated copy of Great Expectations. I rolled my eyes. They were both great ideas, of course…but they weren't really me. And somehow, it stung that Quil hadn't immediately known that.

"Not really. More like social sciences. Like learning about different cultures and how to preserve them." I brought my knees up to my chin. "I overheard my teachers talking today. Makah's struggling. We aren't getting enough funding. More and more companies are only offering to help the council out if they can put their chain stores on our land, since there's so much free. It's wrong that people don't even know these problems exist."

"Amen to that." Quil muttered, then gestured to the notes scribbled into my book. "What's pathetic fallacy? I can't believe you're already reading Dickens. We were just starting this out in sophomore year, when I left."

I guess over time, Quil had grown immune to my many, many opinions, and decided not to engage me in debates anymore. According to Emily, I had shocked everyone at a dinner party once, when I climbed up onto her dinner table, aged 5, and quoted a Save the Whales infomercial. No more prime time TV for me.

"Maybe if you'd stayed in school, you'd know." I rolled my eyes again – old habits never die.

"Ouch. 'Help me, I'm dumb.'" He put on a squeaky voice. That was a little uncalled for. I knew none of the Quileute boys had been big on school. To date, the only person I knew around here who had gone to college was Rachel Black. My sister was next in line.

I didn't mind, of course. I mean it didn't matter to me either way. Not going to college didn't make you better or worse. Everybody had his or her own choice. I just wish I didn't get this strange vibe off everybody (meaning my Mom, and Sam, and Emily, and _especially_ Quil) all the time; a vibe that suggested they knew something I didn't, and that actually, college was just a silly fantasy. It made me feel inherently uncomfortable, like my life had already been planned without me even getting a say.

Quil saw my face. "You know I'm just playing with you, Claire. I'm proud of how intelligent you are. It makes me feel better about leaving school in the first place; I never had your kind of potential, so I don't feel like I wasted anything by dropping out." He beamed, and it was hard not to smile back. _Sometimes_, Quil knew exactly the right thing to say.

"Why _did_ you leave?" I pressed gently.

He laughed softly, shrugged, and got back to my book. The conversation was doomed to end there. This happened way too often, and sometimes I left it, and sometimes I didn't. I wondered whether today was one of those days to pursue it. It hardly seemed fair that I share information about myself, yet Quil was allowed to have a shield up all the time.

Then again, nobody had really asked me to tell him I was thinking about my future. Something about him just made me spill the beans, no matter how much control I exercised. I wasn't altogether sure why Quil was around so often in the first place, but I could never remember a time in which he wasn't, and that made me prone to telling him a lot of things.

"You know, you'd be great in a criminal proceeding." I said lightly. He raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "I don't think I've ever gotten a straight answer out of you on anything."

"Sure you have. I told you the truth when you asked me where chicken nuggets came from."

"And 9 years down the line, I'm still a vegetarian." I glared.

"Exactly. You're better off not knowing the truth." He grinned. To anybody else, it might have looked good-natured, but I got the feeling he was being 200% serious.

"If that's how you're going to be, then you can forget about me answering any of _your _questions anymore." I snatched my book back. I knew I was being a brat, but I also knew it wasn't totally unjustified. I pushed my glasses further up my nose and ignored him. Even Miss Havisham, the creepy old lady in this book, was better company right now.

"Come on, Claire." He wheedled after an uncomfortable period of quietude. "Best friends don't keep secrets."

"It's a good thing you're not my best friend, then."

But I couldn't stop the smile creeping onto my face. Quil laughed, and just like that, the tension was gone. That was the sum total of us.

For the time being, anyway.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

* * *

**Friday 1st**** May 2020**

**Claire is 17**

* * *

So school was officially over for me. My credits had been exhausted. I never had to set foot in the building again…until graduation, that is. I knew taking extra electives during my junior year would pay off. I was looking forward to spending my summer with Kia and some of the guys by the creek up in Forks, smoking the sunshine away.

I hadn't yet told Quil about Cornell. My stomach had sunken into itself every time I saw him, which wasn't so often nowadays – not for seven days, in fact - but I had made a promise to myself since the 4th of June 2018 (aka the worst birthday of my life) that I wouldn't indulge that old habit of giving him every detail of my life again. Not when he hadn't given me the same courtesy. That fateful Monday, one of weak sunshine, a smashed birthday cake, and unstoppable tears, was when our relationship had changed forever.

I dumped my backpack – a fluffy brown dog-shaped job, probably designed for a sixth grader – on the couch. Kia had given it to me last Christmas with her trademark smirk. Bitch. Literally.

"Claire?" I whirled around. Quil had opened the screen door. He was scowling slightly. "Why didn't you lock the door?"

I shrugged. "Maybe because it's broad daylight. Maybe because we know everybody that lives here. Besides, how else would you get inside? You've never knocked, I wouldn't want you to start now." I flopped onto the black upholstery and put my feet up on the coffee table. Quil's eyes lingered over my bare legs momentarily.

"Aren't you cold in those shorts?" He took a wary seat on the arm of the couch.

"Nope." I popped the p. The silence that followed weighed onto my shoulders. I decided to be the bigger person. "Where have you been?" And then cringed mentally. What did I care that he had been AWOL for the last week, anyway?

Quil's brown eyes flickered momentarily, only to be replaced with his usual mask of total serenity. Sometimes, I felt as if I lived for those rare moments in which I broke through his concrete exterior. But after all, they were only rare. And they were only moments.

"Out…on a job." He faltered. I knew what that meant. I didn't pursue it. Pursing my lips, I switched the channel. _An American Werewolf in London. _Brilliant. Clearly fate – or cable, at the very least - was trying to tell me something. I turned the TV off instead.

He grabbed my wrist. "Claire, we _can_ talk about it…if you want." He lowered his eyes. His eyelashes brushed his copper cheeks.

I swallowed sourly. It felt like I had sucked a lemon. I didn't _want_ anything. If this were a part of his life he was truly willing to share, I would've found everything out from him in the first place.

"You're still here, aren't you?" I stalked over to the fridge. The ground floor of my house was open plan. No doors, no crevices, no privacy, unless you hid behind the fridge door. Which was my motive all along, because, to my mild horror and revulsion, I felt tears start to prick my eyes. Everything that came out of my mouth was spiky, but the fact that he was still here actually generated exhaustive relief in me.

It killed me that I had to work so hard to get under his skin, but _monosyllables _allowed him to get under mine.

"I can go if you want me to." He murmured. He was trying. Desperately hard. I felt a sudden wave of sadness; it was like Stevie Smith said in that poem. Not waving, but drowning.

"It's cool." I pulled two sodas out and threw one to him absently, joining him on the floor.

He beamed. "Got any homework to do?"

"No. I finished school."

"What?" His eyes grew bulbous. "Claire, you never told me! Congratulations!"

"It was just today." I shrugged, taking a sip of my diet Dr Pepper. "I finished all my credits and AP classes."

"GPA?"

"Not sure yet, should be in the region of 3.8, 3.9 from my calculations. Calculus screwed me." I was caught off guard slightly when Quil grabbed me into a warm hug.

"I'm so happy for you, you little nerd." He teased. I smiled in spite of myself, and when we broke apart, my blonde hair was rumpled. "How are we celebrating?"

"Er…I think Kia and I are going to hang out tonight." His smile faded slightly.

"A party?"

"I think that would be a serious exaggeration. It's just us and a couple of other people at somebody's house." Quil's face darkened. "I'm telling you, not asking you."

"I'm not comfortable with this." Quil growled. I jumped slightly. He really did sound like an animal. "I don't think Kianda is a good influence on you."

Of course he didn't.

"I'm 17, it's my life to live the way I choose. I don't recall knowing every detail of what you did in your spare time until very, very recently." The room was dangerously quiet. "You're not my authority, Quil. If you don't like it, there's the door."

Two minutes later, I heard a slam. Two minutes after that, a howl.

And two minutes after that, total silence.

* * *

I groaned, slightly disoriented. The top button of my shirt was taking an age to fasten.

"Claire, c'mere, I'll do that for you." Dustin drawled, putting his cigarette out on the ashtray next to his messed-up bed.

In principle, I hadn't lied to Quil. This _was_ somebody's house, and aside from Kia and I, Nathan and Dustin were here. That was a couple. And this definitely wasn't a party. Not in a traditional sense, anyway.

So why did I feel so shitty?

"Wasn't this fun?" He grinned. He was definitely good looking, and I had definitely slept with him voluntarily – not for the first time – but I couldn't shake the extra guilt that seemed to weigh me down every time I did so. It was a cumulative kind of bad feeling. Even so, I nodded enthusiastically, grabbed my jacket and trundled downstairs.

"Claire!" Kia shot up. She sat Indian-style in front of a ring of shots on the carpet. "Ready to go?"

We walked back to her house on the eastern side of the Reservation, knowing that if we pulled any stunts with her Citroen and her alcohol-infused blood, the Wolfpack would be onto us. I shook my hair out in the night, wanting to rid myself of my self-inflicted vilification.

"How was he?" She asked, smirking. I shrugged, and her face fell. "You're literally the only girl in the world who could react like that to somebody like him. Get a grip." She hip-checked me, slurring a little.

"Oh yeah? What about your ring of fire with _Nathan_?" I fluttered my eyelashes dreamily. She rolled her eyes.

"I didn't _sleep _with him." She stopped suddenly, her eyes growing sad. "There's only one person I sleep with."

"What?" She said nothing. "_What?_" I shook my head. "Wait a goddamn minute. _Sleep_? As in present tense?"

She bit her lip.

"You're still sleeping with Brady? After what happened? I thought you said it was just a _casual hookup_?" I clutched my head, the disorientation getting slightly worse.

"It was." She said, in a hollow voice. "It still is. For him, anyway. Me? I'm not sure anymore." I knew the drink was forcing her to be honest, but I couldn't stop the fury creeping into my voice.

"Kia, you're leaving La Push in a few _months_. You're out of here for _good_, and you should be _happy_, knowing what you know. Are you in_sane_?"

She refused to say anymore. My head was spinning. Not even two weeks ago I had been confident that Kia was on my side. That she had hated the lies as much as I did.

But now, here she was, my ally in spite and frustration, telling me she still had the capacity to forgive.

That night, we top to tailed in her pink bed. But even despite her being millimetres away from me, and even despite Dustin and what had happened between us, I realised with a jolt of familiar sadness that I felt so alone. It wasn't a new feeling, neither was it one I chose to think about for too long.

Unconsciousness drew a veil over my eyes. In a passing, and mildly horrifying thought, it dawned on me that the only time today in which I hadn't felt it was, in fact, that hour or so in my living room. With Quil.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

* * *

**Monday 3****rd**** November 2014**

**Claire is 12**

* * *

_Quil Ateara III_

_1929-2014_

_A loving husband, father, grandfather, and inspiration_

_You will not be forgotten_

I was 12 when we buried Quil's grandfather.

The whole community felt as if we had been sucker-punched. In many ways, Old Quil was the life and soul of the traditions we preserved. He knew the most, and you could see the love and wealth of knowledge he had for his people shining in his eyes.

_My _Quil's eyes. They were the same ones.

All of the Quileute reservation, and most of my old home, Makah, turned up to the burial. I had looked up at my Mom questioningly, wondering if I should go and sit with Quil, but Embry and Jake pushed me gently to the side and I knew that it wasn't my place.

Joy, Quil's mom, cried freely when she spoke at the service. Her audience cried with her. She was just the sort of woman you couldn't help but understand and love. But my eyes were trained on Quil the entire time. He was hunched over, fists clenched, shaking very slightly. I thought he might have been crying, too, and when he looked up, I knew I was right.

I wasn't used to him being sad. I wanted so much to go and speak to him. To let him know that I was here, would be here, if he needed, the way he seemed to be perpetually there for me. But after we had all said our final goodbyes to Old Quil, people swarmed him and Joy to offer their condolences. I felt disengaged from the large crowd of people in this cemetery, and walked down a headstone or two until I came to the one I was looking for.

_Quil Ateara IV_

_1960-1995_

_Survived by your wife and one beautiful son_

_You will remain in our hearts forever_

I swallowed earnestly, before kneeling. Dads weren't a topic Quil and I ever broached. Ever. A small part of me was irrationally jealous of him for knowing, at the very least, exactly where his dad was. But I was always flooded with a sense of immediate guilt afterwards for, although my dad was AWOL, there was the small possibility I could see and speak to him at least one more time.

I unclipped the flower I had pinned to my dress and placed it at his headstone mournfully.

"You're not alone anymore." I murmured, in case it was any small comfort. I knew Quil came here at least once a week. There were almost always fresh flowers at this headstone. But I supposed with everything that had happened, I would have to suffice for today.

I looked over at Quil.

The crowd had dwindled, and I could clearly see the tear tracks on his smooth copper skin. He still looked beautiful to me. My feelings for him had started to throw themselves into serious turmoil. I put it down to my hormones being in whack.

I got up to walk over to him, to let him know how sorry I was, to let him know I loved him. I didn't know if, coming from me, it would make a difference, but I was gathering the courage to say so all the same.

But he started to shake violently, and before I knew it, had taken off at an inhuman speed.

There was no way I'd be catching up anytime soon, but I couldn't let him go, not without seeing me or talking to me at least once. I made an attempt to run after him, but Embry intercepted me as Jake stole my role, flying past.

"If he's going to cry, he doesn't need to be embarrassed." I bleated pathetically. "He's seen me cry a million times." I tried to push past, but Embry was stalwart. "C'mon Embry, let me go."

"Claire, go home." Embry urged. He wasn't harsh, exactly, but the words still made my eyes prick with telltale tears.

"Embry, please, I _have _to see him."

"Go home."

"Why won't you let me see him?" Anger began to cloud my vision. "Doesn't he want to see me?"

Embry stayed silent for a few seconds, as if he was considering his options. Somehow, that said it all. "I think he'd just rather be with the guys right now. Maybe you could see him later." He suggested finally.

Dejected, I walked into my Mom's open arms. It was the first real time I had been shut out of anything concerning Quil. But somehow, I was dimly aware that it wouldn't be the last.


End file.
